


Amends

by karasunovolleygays



Series: Valentine's Kisses 2020 [38]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, reconnection, right person wrong time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunovolleygays/pseuds/karasunovolleygays
Summary: Kindaichi goes to a team get-together despite knowing Iwaizumi is going to be there. Old feelings resurface, and new ones follow suit.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Kindaichi Yuutarou
Series: Valentine's Kisses 2020 [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589239
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Amends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lozza342](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lozza342/gifts).



> This was written for my 2020 Valentine's Kisses: 40. A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.
> 
> The song referenced in the story is Kanade by Sukima Switch. I found the song by chance, and it was just by happy accident that the artist has Haikyuu connections. Also, I recommend [looking at the lyrics](https://www.animelyrics.com/jpop/sukima/kanade.htm) and maybe [checking out the song's video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZaLaWLb9wY). They're beautiful.

It’s been six years since he’s seen Iwaizumi, Kindaichi notes. That stretch of time manages to be five years too long, and also not nearly long enough. 

Nonetheless, a nostalgic Oikawa, back from an extended stay in Brazil, had decided to ‘get the old gang back together’ for a night out and Kindaichi has never been able to say no to his old captain. So attend he does, but the moment he arrives at the restaurant and sees Iwaizumi, Kindaichi’s flight response kicks into high gear.

Swallowing the urge to flee, Kindaichi waves to his old volleyball comrades and receives a chorus of greetings in kind. Oikawa rushes toward him and captures him in a crippling embrace. “Kindaichi! I’m glad you made it.”

“Uh, yeah,” Kindaichi wheezes, patting Oikawa on the shoulder until he is allowed to breathe again. “Nice to see you again, too, Oikawa-san.”

Kindaichi is dragged to the table and deposited into a chair between Kunimi and Watari. He gives his tablemates a pinched smile before pouring himself a glass of water from one of the pitchers in the middle of the long table. He doesn’t look up; he doesn’t dare, because Iwaizumi is sitting straight across from him.

“Hey, Kindaichi,” Iwaizumi murmurs, and Kindaichi doesn’t miss a syllable, even through the ruckus around him.

“Hey.” He still can’t make himself meet Iwaizumi’s gaze, which he can feel boring into him. Not when that voice, that face, that everything reminds Kindaichi of the last time they had spoken.

  
  


_ Kindaichi’s hands trembled as he clutched the gift box in his hands. The contents of it were innocuous enough: an assortment of mochi from the sweet shop near Aobajousai High School that most of the students haunted when they had some extra pocket money. The flavors in the box were all the ones he remembered Iwaizumi trying and enjoying over the past year. _

_ Yes, the box was for Iwaizumi, and that was what shook him. _

_ The Third Year Class 5 room was almost vacant, with most of its inhabitants outside on the quad passing out cards and honmei chocolates for Valentine’s Day. Only one person remained, in fact, but it was the only one he was looking for. _

_ “Iwaizumi-san?”  _

_ Looking up from his laser-like focus on his Physics textbook, Iwaizumi grinned at him. “Hey, Kindaichi. What’re you doing all the way over here? And why aren’t you outside getting high on chocolate like everyone else?” _

_ Kindaichi chortled and sat at the desk next to Iwaizumi’s. “Why aren’t you?” _

_ “Touche.” Iwaizumi marked his spot with his pencil and closed his book. “So, other than bringing me back to the world of the living, what brings you over this way?” _

_ Cheeks red, Kindaichi swallowed hard and tried not to strangle the neatly wrapped box hidden behind his back. “I, uh, wanted to give you something.” _

_ Iwaizumi sat up straighter in his chair, attention only on Kindaichi. “Wait, what?” _

_ “Yeah.” Kindaichi produced the gift, decked in a metallic teal wrapping with a white chiffon bow. “Here.” _

_ Biting his lip as he accepted the package, Iwaizumi held it in his hands like it were either precious or would explode if he jostled it too much. Kindaichi couldn’t tell, and it made his skin itch. “This is, uh, really nice. I’m almost afraid to ruin the wrap job.” _

_ Kindaichi ducked his head, not willing to admit how much time he had spent getting it just right. “It’s just paper, senpai. You’re supposed to rip it.” _

_ “Well, when you put it like that.” Iwaizumi chuckled, but nonetheless, he carefully removed the bow and paper, keeping both whole. _

_ The box inside was white, with the removable top taped down to keep the contents stationary. Iwaizumi plucked it away and eased the lid off. He inhaled sharply when he saw what was inside. “Oh my god.” _

_ Frozen, Kindaichi’s brain screamed as those words replayed in his mind ad nauseum. They could have meant anything, most of which were not the answer he was hoping for, and a sick feeling clawed in his gut. _

_ There were three neat trays of mochi in the box, with two flavors each on each tray of contrasting color. One of the flavors was arranged in a heart shape, and the rest of the tray was filled with the other. The top layer was taro and red bean, the purple and red an attractive contrast to each other.  _

_ “Are these —” Iwaizumi plucked one out, and Kindaichi’s throat constricted when his tongue darted out to lap at the dusting of rice flour on the outside. “Oh, wow, they are.” _

_ Watching Iwaizumi reverently consume the bite of mochi was akin to a religious experience for Kindaichi. Sheer joy radiated from his giftee — joy he hoped wouldn’t evaporate once Iwaizumi realized the intention behind the gift. _

_ “I, uh, wanted to —” Swallowing hard, Kindaichi amended, “I’m glad you like them. They’re all the flavors I remember you liking.” _

_ Iwaizumi replaced the lid and focused his attention back to Kindaichi. “These had to be expensive. You didn’t have to do that, especially not for me.” _

_ Kindaichi shook his head. “I wanted to, especially for you.” When Iwaizumi’s eyes widened, Kindaichi fiddled with his hands in his lap until he finally admitted, “I like you, Iwaizumi-senpai.” _

  
  


It takes half of the meal before Kindaichi stops wincing every time someone addresses him, expecting every one of his old teammates to bring up that past Valentine’s Day. He never told anyone about it, and he hopes Iwaizumi hadn’t, either.

Fortunately for his sanity, Iwaizumi doesn’t speak to Kindaichi again, instead listening to Oikawa regale the gathering with tales of volleyball abroad as if he hasn’t heard every single word already. 

Kindaichi doesn’t miss the irony that Iwaizumi is as uncomfortable as he is, yet he gets no satisfaction from it.

After the meal concludes and the check settled, most of the guys excuse themselves, citing work in the morning or some other obligation (a kid to go home to, in Hanamaki’s case). The only ones left are Oikawa, Iwaizumi (because Oikawa won’t let him escape), and Kindaichi because he really does have nothing else going on and doesn’t have the chops to lie about it. Kunimi has no such compunctions and dismisses himself, albeit with a set of updated phone numbers and emails for just about everyone.

“So, gentlemen, what shall we do with the rest of our night?” Oikawa asks before herding them on nonetheless, speech lightly slurred by the half bottle of sake he had consumed during dinner. “Any requests?” 

“I’d say ball gags and whips, but you’d like that too much,” Iwaizumi mutters, and Kindaichi snorts despite himself at Oikawa’s squawk of protest. 

Wrinkling his nose, Oikawa crosses his arms and huffs. “You are the rudest friend I’ve ever had. Why do I even put up with you?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Because no one else will pick your sorry ass up when you get drunk enough to forget where you live.” 

“Hey!” Oikawa swats at Iwaizumi but misses, but it goes unnoticed when he points at a nearby building. “Perfect!”

When they realize what Oikawa is indicating, Iwaizumi and Kindaichi whine in unison. “Oikawa-san, can’t we do something else?”

“Nope.” Looping an arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulders and around Kindaichi’s waist, Oikawa laughs. “I want music, but I also want blackmail material and to sit down. ‘S perfect.”

Kindaichi glances at Iwaizumi, who shrugs, and huffs. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi chimes, and the trio head for the karaoke place half a block away.

  
  


_ Jaw hanging slack, Iwaizumi blinked at Kindaichi quietly for what seemed like an eternity before he turned to face forward, eyes fixed on the gift box. “Damn it.” _

_ “Oh.” Kindaichi shrank in his seat, fighting the feeling of bile rising from his gut. “I’ll, uh, just go.” _

_ “Wait.” Iwaizumi’s hand flashed out to snare Kindaichi’s wrist before he could remove himself from the desk. “It’s not what you think. Just give me a minute to process.” Iwaizumi’s grip didn’t relent until Kindaichi sank back into his seat.  _

_ Finally, Iwaizumi spoke. “You have to know this would never work. I’m off to college in a few months, and you’ll still be here.” His eyes were glassy as he fixed Kindaichi with a gaze that was almost a plea. “I really need to know you understand where I’m coming from here.” _

_ “I —” Kindaichi looked away so he could gag without Iwaizumi seeing him dangerously close to throwing up. “It’s fine.” _

_ “No, damn it.” Iwaizumi slipped from his desk and stood over Kindaichi’s shriveled form. “I just mean that if you had asked me this six months ago, we’d probably be having a different conversation right now.”  _

_ Kindaichi murmured, “Getting turned down is all the same, Iwaizumi-san, no matter how it gets delivered.” _

_ Iwaizumi kicked his heel against the leg of his desk, and the room filled with the discordant screech of it sliding on the floor. “I’m fucking this up and I don’t want to.” _

_ “Then what do you want?” Kindaichi finally forced himself to look at Iwaizumi, whose face was ruddy and pinched, obscuring his usually handsome features. _

_ Freezing with his fingers half plunged into his hair, sending it into an even stronger disarray, Iwaizumi said, “What?” _

_ Calm enough not to vomit at the thought of breathing, Kindaichi repeated, “What do you want? If there’s something you want to say, just say it. Right now, you’re making us both miserable.” _

_ Off guard by Kindaichi’s unusual bout of bluntness, Iwaizumi sat on the edge of Kindaichi’s desk and sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t dislike the idea of going out with you. Sure, you’re a guy, but I don’t care. You’re cool about all the things I like, and I’d like to think I’d be cool about yours. _

_ “The problem is when I leave for college, it’ll be over.” Iwaizumi raked his hands down his face and groaned into his palms. “Only a selfish piece of shit does that to someone they care about.” _

_ Kindaichi shivered, his entire body aching and painfully aware of how much it no longer wanted to be in that room. “Can I leave now?” _

_ Iwaizumi pushed off the desk and gave Kindaichi a wide berth. “If you want.” _

_ His legs were leaden as Kindaichi trudged back to the second floor and to his usual classroom.  _

_ Past Kindaichi had been a stupid child when he had considered losing in the Spring High Tournament the worst day of his life. It didn’t even come close to eclipsing the gnawing awareness that if he had mustered up the courage to say something about his feelings months before, something might have actually come of it. _

_ Instead, he got to see off his favorite person in the entire school on a tide of regret. The mere thought of Iwaizumi would always remind him of it, and they didn’t have enough of a chance to make something else of it. Iwaizumi had to have realized that before saying what he had said, but he said it anyway, with no gentle, well-meaning lie to shroud it with. _

_ When he returned to his classroom, Kindaichi didn’t speak for the rest of the day and skipped volleyball practice altogether. He wasn’t in the mood for Kunimi to pick apart his mood in five seconds flat and tell him what he already knew but couldn’t manage to do. _

_ Instead, Kindaichi went home, locked his bedroom door, shut off his phone, and cried. _

  
  


Booked for two hours despite Iwaizumi’s protestation that Oikawa won’t even stay awake that long, they find themselves in a fairly well soundproofed room with a bench, a mic stand, and a display complete with a remote for song selection. “You go first, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says, shoving the microphone into Oikawa’s hand. “Maybe you’ll pass out right after and we can all go home.”

Iwaizumi’s statement makes Kindaichi squirm. He clearly wants to escape, and he assumes Kindaichi does, too. There is no bittersweet enjoyment of seeing him, talking to him, despite their last time alone together. 

Kindaichi’s thoughts race while Oikawa pores over the listings, his possible choices mounting until Iwaizumi randomly picks one of them with a glare.

Oikawa’s voice isn’t bad. The quality is certainly impaired by inebriation, Kindaichi thinks, but he can carry a tune and gets most of the words correct.

Unfortunately for Iwaizumi, Oikawa makes it through his first song and demands his best friend go next. Kindaichi can almost feel Iwaizumi’s teeth grinding from this far away, but he takes the mic anyway.

Kindaichi sits up straighter when Iwaizumi starts to sing. Though rough from an obvious lack of practice, it’s smoky and pleasant and on key. The song is one Kindaichi vaguely remembers being on the radio a few years back, a popular rock song from an up and coming band. 

It suits him. The lyrics are intense and powerful, yet edged with genuine feeling. Had his heart not been incinerated in that classroom all those years ago, Kindaichi might have even relished the performance, especially the way Iwaizumi’s reticence about participating melt away with every note.

True to prediction, Oikawa is asleep by the end of the song, sprawled out on the bench with barely enough room for Iwaizumi and Kindaichi to sit while squashed together. “Asshole,” Iwaizumi grumbles, dragging Oikawa by his feet until his knees are draped over the arm of the bench. It frees up enough room so they can sit without touching, and Kindaichi doesn’t miss the meaning behind it.

Or perhaps he does.

Kindaichi reels when Iwaizumi bumps their shoulders together and holds out the mic. “You wanna go?”

“Uh, I’ll pass.” Kindaichi eyes the mic like it will attack him if he looks away.

“You wanna talk?” Iwaizumi offers, brow raised, and Kindaichi plucks the mic from his hand. “Yeah, thought so.”

Not even bothering to pretend Iwaizumi doesn’t know why he changed his mind, Kindaichi scrolls through the songbook until one in particular snares his attention.

He remembers it well. Back in middle school, Iwaizumi used to listen to it on repeat on bus rides when Oikawa irritated him. Sometimes, he would even hum it to himself while pushing the ball cart or putting up the nets or even taping his ankle.

When the song name flashes on the screen, Kindaichi steals a glance at Iwaizumi and knows he hit the mark. This song would say more than Kindaichi’s words possibly could.

The melancholy strains of one of Sukima Switch’s older songs, Kanade, fills the room, and Kindaichi is shocked at how well his voice wraps around the lyrics. Maybe he’s a better singer than he thought he was. Maybe a song about watching someone leave and not being able to enjoy their memory is something he can channel with his entire being.

The last few words drift off into nothingness on the monitor as the song ends, but Kindaichi hasn’t looked at it for the past couple of minutes and doesn’t need to. He remembers the song well, making a point to know it because his favorite upperclassman had liked it so much.

All he can see is Iwaizumi, staring at him with quick, shallow breaths like no one else, nothing else is in the room.

“Yuutarou,” Iwaizumi breathes, pushing off the bench and slowly moving toward Kindaichi. “I can’t tell whether you remembered I like that song, if you were just picking out something in your range, or if you’re using it as a giant ‘fuck you’ to me because of what happened before.”

Kindaichi flushes. “I couldn’t tell you off, Iwaizumi-san. But I did remember you liked it, and it does say something I don’t know how to articulate.” Flipping the lyric monitor off, he softly sings, “Even though you made sure to send me off brightly, I looked at you, who couldn't smile.”

“I let go of your hand and you were left in the distance. In my dreams I called out to you and embraced you,” Iwaizumi continues from further into the song. “Oh, god, you must have hated me for that.”

“No.” Kindaichi ducks his head and wraps his arms around his chest. “I don’t know what I felt, but it wasn’t that. Even if you make me sad, I could never hate you, Iwaizumi-san.” 

Iwaizumi pries KIndaichi’s hands from his sides and folds them between his own. “Even though I would deserve it if you did, I’m glad you don’t.”

Levering up their joined hands, Kindaichi brushes a kiss against Iwaizumi’s skin. “I missed you.”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi’s chest heaves, like he’s consciously forcing himself to keep breathing, while his touch drifts up the length of Kindaichi’s arms, the slope of his shoulders, the curve of his cheeks until they rest gently on his jawline. “We’d be connected, no matter where we were.”

The last line of the song bubbles in Kindaichi’s belly. He doesn’t let his brain try to wrap around the meaning, not when the rest of him is leaning in to kiss Iwaizumi.

Their lips touch, a cleaner affair than Kindaichi had always figured it to be, with nature’s factory settings guiding him along the rest of the way. His own hands wrap around Iwaizumi’s waist, drawing them closer than they’ve ever been, but it doesn’t feel like they’re close enough. Fabric and air rob them of true touch, and Kindaichi wants to whine about it loudly.

Iwaizumi wrenches his mouth away, eyes closed, an almost drunk grin on his lips. “So, uh, yeah.” He chortles and rests his forehead on Kindaichi’s shoulder. “Why didn’t I do that forever ago?”

“We were kids,” Kindaichi supplied. “Kids are stupid.” Though Kindaichi itches to resume their kiss and then some, his eyes stray to Oikawa snoozing on the bench. “I wish we were alone.”

A wicked grin replaces Iwaizumi’s beatific smile, and he ducks away from Kindaichi’s grasp. “We will be in a minute.” With that, he plucks off one of Oikawa’s shoes and teases the pad of his foot until a laughing Oikawa flails his way onto the floor with a  _ thump _ .

On wobbling feet, Oikawa shakes a fist at Iwaizumi. “You are awful! Terrible! An affront!”

Iwaizumi huffs. “Yeah, sure.” His gaze sidles over to Kindaichi and back to Oikawa. “Hey, Tooru?”

“What?” Oikawa starts and so does Kindaichi, never having heard Iwaizumi calling his best friend anything other than some variation of ‘Oikawa’.

“Get out.”

Oikawa opens his mouth to protest, but when he eyes Iwaizumi and Kindaichi and the lack of space between them, he smirks. “Oh, so that’s how it is. It’s about time you two figured this out. I had to arrange a fake nostalgic get-together to do it, too.”

Kindaichi and Iwaizumi stare at Oikawa, gobsmacked, and Oikawa harrumphs, a lot less drunk than Kindaichi remembers. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. I just knew if you two didn’t figure it out, you’d both regret it.” 

With a wave, Oikawa saunters to the door of the singing booth. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Never would, since I’m the civilized one.” Iwaizumi’s hand reaches out for Kindaichi’s after the door closes behind Oikawa. “Now, where were we?”

Kindaichi doesn’t bother hiding his sappy smile. “Right where we should be.”

  
  



End file.
